


Dream Feast Theory

by tokaku



Category: Shin Megami Tensei: Devil Survivor
Genre: Gen, Multi, Multiple Lives, cain and abel story retelling, follows the demon overlord route where you choose not to kill humans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 07:03:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5324945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tokaku/pseuds/tokaku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're about to fight God, and Naoya remembers the beginning. He also doesn't apologize.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dream Feast Theory

**Author's Note:**

> This is the result of me going along with Amane's route first, and then finishing Naoya's route. I always thought there was something off about the angels though (yeah, Atsuro, those angels piss me off, too), so I can't believe that Cain's 'salvation' would really come if you follow them. So here, have something to justify going chaos with Naoya. :)

It’s the night after the rejected offering. Asked about the reason, Grandfather gave a vague response. The answer came as a series of impressions: _blood hands a smile the best_. The image of Hebel, grave as he knelt and slit the throat of the lamb he had loved and nurtured and which promised to be the best of his flock, a sacrifice that hurt him, like sharp rocks digging into his feet. 

But Grandfather had been pleased. Still, when Qayin asked him why his own offering had not been enough, he promised Qayin his younger brother’s submission. It was a consolation, Qayin thought, because it has become painfully obvious where Grandfather’s attention is, and Grandfather knew it, too.

What Qayin thought it amounted to was this: Grandfather loved this sacrifice of the best. At the time, Qayin felt envy, anger, the dull bones of resignation. It was unfair. If Grandfather wanted the best from them, Qayin had no chance of pleasing him from the start. Because his best wasn’t among his crops.

The next morning, he will find Hebel rinsing away the blood from the slab of sacrifice, Qayin’s own rejected offering safely nestled in one of their mother’s woven baskets and hanging from a branch, and Hebel quietly rubbing the dried blood away from the slightly rough edges of the stone with clumps of grass.

Only later will Qayin think of why the best was demanded, and what it must have meant for Grandfather: Hebel’s pain at surrendering what he loved. The heavy proof of loyalty, and the training that ingrained the belief that he should always sacrifice. 

\--

There were earlier memories.

Their aunt Lilith came and went. When she visited, Mother and Father usually left, but they found nothing wrong with leaving them with her. She taught Qayin the secrets of the plants, the things Father didn’t understand because he had been denied that learning when he had displeased Grandfather. It was another story from before they were born. They didn’t question why Lilith knew instead. She allowed Hebel to play as he wanted then, lying down on his stomach on the ground, moving a small carved toy in lazy circles. He played with one foot up and the toes of his other digging into the dirt, crushing the grass. All his early memories of them together as children had that smell of crushed grass and the herbs Lilith had him pick. 

Lilith smelled of something liquid and burning.

Once, she saw Hebel talking with a rabbit. She seemed amused. This, too, she said. This. And she lifted him to sit beside her, and let her snake uncoil from around her neck and breasts. Hebel stared at the snake with something like horror, or probably it was at whatever the snake was saying, and Qayin, reacting to that, jumped up to pull him away. But their mother, going back for an errand, had also seen. She picked up a stone and threw it at Hebel. At Hebel, not the snake.

Hebel closed his eyes before the stone hit his forehead. It wasn’t their first pain, so Hebel had known to close his eyes at least, but Qayin could tell that the pain this time had still surprised him. Nothing like scabbed knees, and the earth had not had anything like intent behind the given hurt. The blood was sluggish going down, but tears welled up quickly in Hebel’s eyes. He twisted away from Lilith’s relaxed hold, and was running away before Qayin could do much more than go after him. 

The tongue of beasts. Their parents had lost it, they had said. Qayin never had it. Hebel had it because he was blessed. But there was something amused and malicious when Lilith had murmured to Qayin, later, “He gets it from his father.”

 _His father_ , the incarnation before ‘Naoya’ thought with a wry grin, when things were finally clear. The Bel fragment was more complete this time, less broken, but there was still something _wrong_. It clung to him but wouldn’t speak. Perhaps couldn’t, not with the medium it had thought to use: a blind sickly child, cast off and failing as a beggar, too frail it didn’t even survive the week after their meeting, even when he had tried to take care of it. His brother’s keeper, this time. But the Bel fragment had still died. Burned up, like one of the talismans after a successful summoning, and it’s that thought that made him go still. Made him feel something like unease. 

Like a talisman. The fragment hadn’t just died; it had been meant to return. Probably he had delayed it from returning by taking care of its dying host. But what had been the point? Observation should have meant that the Bel fragment would stay, but it had burned itself up instead. 

It was a warning. A threat. 

_I found you, Qayin._

He had killed his brother. So it didn’t occur to him that to Hebel, it’s a tentative greeting. The welcome and care made Hebel hopeful for the next time. Throughout the years of watching and dreaming, Hebel had dimly become aware of human customs, changed and quaint.

Like a neighbor going to a person’s house, knocking to be let in. 

Or a family member coming back, in this country Qayin had seemingly grown attached to these last few decades. Coming back and announcing, _I’m home_.

\--

Qayin became aware of it several lives after his first death, all of them tragic in that way that Grandfather seemed to like. His lives started to become shorter, too, as humans absorbed more of Grandfather’s curses, aged more quickly and died of disease. In that diminished world, Hebel returned quite unlike him. He wasn’t reborn whole like Qayin, but came in fragments, like a broken mirror lodged in another person, or in a small animal. The people with one of these fragments had a tendency to die early, or their children died at birth, and the fragment would disappear. The animals seemed hardier, but did not have enough sentience or strength to do anything. 

They did follow Qayin home, like a strange, sad echo of Hebel himself. Or what Hebel might be if Qayin had crushed his head in with a rock and he didn’t regrow anything except his earliest instincts to follow. There’s still an empty impress of a hand in his, tiny and trusting. Qayin wanted nothing so badly as to rub off the feeling.

Grandfather had promised him Hebel’s submission. Was this why he was being reborn in pieces, because otherwise, his hate for Qayin would be too big for any obedience to be possible? 

Qayin had seen how frightening Hebel’s obedience could be, how desolate he would look after, when he complied, openly and easily, to Grandfather’s demands.

The blood of his beloved sheep on his hands. For Hebel, who could speak with animals, every sacrifice was murder. But even the distinction of ‘first murderer’ was stolen from him. Grandfather’s plans for Hebel had always been as a tool; as an angel serving him, and now as what he had been reduced to in the stories: a victim, a sacrifice. Their story, people said, warned against jealousy. Whose jealousy though? Qayin had always begrudged him his best, especially in the end, when he had kept Hebel from ascending.

Hebel had been lost to Grandfather, lost even to Qayin. And this had angered Grandfather, who called down a curse on him. As for Hebel, the supposedly beloved child and the first human death, his soul now kept returning in fragments, none of them nearly enough to call Hebel anymore. Something else to blame on Grandfather. Or so Qayin assumed.

\--

But if,

For instance,

A demon who had grown too powerful wanted to see the world, it would have to leave most of its power behind. Or rather, it would have to leave _itself_ as an anchor behind. The Great Darkness didn’t need to do anything to destroy the world, except to appear there in its true form. A demon with only half of its soul birthed from it would probably have less trouble visiting the world.

If it had not spent almost a millennium eating everything near until it was sane again.

Its new awareness had given it this form, because getting stabbed and the pain that came with it taught Hebel how much he had probably been hated all along, and he had felt an answering hate and self-disgust. A hate that turned against himself.

_I didn’t understand you. And because of that—…_

_Why did you have to be so kind if you hated me?_

_I want to stay with you!_

But given how he didn’t even understand Qayin, did he deserve to stay with him? The mass of emotions stopped making sense after, for a short eternity of hunger and lust and finding until Hebel touched a thread back to a human mind.

In its first few centuries of life, Hebel had scratched away its scales, gouged at its own skin until its blood poured so Hebel could recall being killed, and that it had been human. Then the sadness came, and that continued until Hebel preferred not to think again. Still, some of its scales found their way to the human world, instinctively reached for something comforting.

There had been a god, too. Hebel had stumbled towards him, knees weak and trembling, able to adopt a human form after so long because the god had appeared in one. Hebel was a child in this form, worrying only about a skinned knee, and the god had patted him on the back when he had started crying, held him until he quieted. The god had taken one of his scales then, called him “little brother” with a joke in his voice, and promised to take it back with him. Something about how someone needed to see it.

Usually, though, there was no one.

When it wasn’t eating, Hebel curled around a spire and slept. It sometimes felt things through its scales. Brief flashes that could have been life, snuffed too early to do much with them but watch. Then Hebel registered the touch, something it could recognize—a careful, fond pat on the head, or sometimes a more indifferent one, but still given. 

There was fear of being driven away again, if Qayin realizes it’s him, but the hand on his head was gentle, almost. Indifferent, yes. But Hebel had been a child long enough to understand that there were always adult concerns that demanded time and attention, and even when they were children, Qayin had always thought about more things, and more carefully than he did. 

Hebel was a cat, this time. Qayin was… Qayin was as he had always been, and the way his older brother was recognizable immediately was like pain lancing along his healed ribs. The pain though was mostly joy at having found him at last, and for a moment he forgot even the fear of rejection. 

They were able to spend a short time together like that, Qayin scratching absently at his ears, letting him climb onto his lap and feel his warmth. It’s less than a blink, but the joy didn’t diminish when they dragged Qayin away to the town square, to a very noisy gathering of people, so many soft-looking people. They tied him to a pole in the middle of the square, and one of them hit him on the head with a stick. The blow was probably meant to only draw blood, but Hebel saw it has knocked him unconscious. Or maybe it was that man’s own form of mercy. 

Hebel gathered up his tiny limbs and sprang, and as expected, they killed him, and threw the cat’s corpse over the broken twigs at Qayin’s feet. Hebel felt the surviving piece of him getting dislodged from the corpse, pulled on it until it gave, and he lifted his hands to touch Qayin’s cheeks. 

The fire registered as soothing heat, different from the heavy burning atmosphere of hell, and he kept his hold on Qayin until he saw him die. It’s from the smoke, not the fire, and he didn’t wake. Qayin was shaking himself loose from his body, too, unconsciously, like when he tossed and turned in his sleep. Hebel felt the essence of him, bright shot with dark, easy enough to hold, but somehow, even with his grip on him, Qayin was sinking gradually away, and not to anywhere they could be reunited.

When the last tendrils of him slipped away, down to the earth to be reborn, Hebel screamed. Most of the time, Hebel didn’t think of Grandfather, but he hadn’t forgotten him. And now there was this missed chance to see his brother again, more real than the past centuries have been.

Hebel had been fighting against himself before. But for the first time, the anger was directed somewhere else. Emotion had come early and would have destroyed him, but now there was also angry intelligence.

It was very different after that.

\--

They have met several lives before. Loki was a handsome man again in this one, nails polished, and even his hands looked expensive. Here though, at least according to the current rules of this world, they have equal standing. Qayin tried to ignore him, but Loki brought what he called a souvenir and a story. A child described in detail, to the tiny half-moon scar on its forehead, crying alone in the dark. 

But what a shame, Loki said, it’s actually a demon in disguise. Its deep hatred has attracted Bels to it, but rather than be eaten by them, it consumed them instead. “You should see the bones,” Loki added, smugly.

Loki knew he had started looking for the Bels, the pieces of a much older god, for his vengeance, and Loki was the kind to think up an elaborate lie. So he would have dismissed it, if not for the feeling of familiarity from what Loki held up.

It wasn’t anything. More like an absence, with an echoing vital power that reached back when he moved to touch it. It felt like questing fingers, something that could have been that child, once. His hand closed on nothing and the sense disappeared. 

“You should be a responsible older brother,” Loki said now. “Feed him, and all that.” Loki held up his hands, forestalling his lunge over the table. In all his lives, Qayin had never met anyone else who woke up the crude urge in him to _punch_. “Ah, but you can’t, can you?”

Qayin swallowed a lump in his throat, forced his fists to relax. “You still owe me.”

“Oh?” Loki drew the word out, challenging. He raised a brow and crossed his legs, ever the genteel gentleman. 

“Last time, your foolish scheme had me killed.”

“No, you’ll find it’s because you… _fell_ short of expectations.” A pun. Qayin couldn’t believe it. But while he was angry about the pun, he wasn’t especially angry about dying then; that particular life had been hopeless anyway.

“Still, don’t think it’s discharged because you brought me a souvenir that _disappeared_.”

“Well, what did you expect?” Loki gave an expansive shrug, leisurely lighted a cigarette. Qayin decided he hated cigarettes. As if reading his thoughts, Loki blew smoke at him. 

“It was hard enough getting that back and keeping it so long. You see, it needs to be _born_ into this world. Apparently, you can’t push it into a container and think it would hold it, not when there’s a soul to fight it.” Which meant Loki had tried, and with poor results. “Maybe your little brother’s just shy? Or don’t tell me he doesn’t want to hurt anyone even now.”

Loki gave a tinkling laugh, mocking, and motioned with the cigarette in his hand. “And it’s just you and me here. It reached out, and it found _you_. Out of curiosity, how do you think it felt?”

He had spent the previous three lives without seeing any of Hebel’s fragments around. That ghost-touch had been wondering, and pleased. Qayin reasoned it must have been pleased to know where he was, because Hebel couldn’t enact any form of revenge if he didn’t know where to find him.

“How is he now?” he didn’t ask. Loki would lie anyway. But he couldn’t stop from imagining the crying little child with its skinned knee.

Hebel had been quick to cry as a child. This had changed as they grew up, but Hebel would still cry when Qayin was with him, at least until Qayin had realized that the tears were a lie. Oh, he did want to be comforted, but he didn’t cry as easily, not when God had slowly inured him to pain. And the angels sang of ascendance, set a brand on him that counted down his time as a human. _They_ didn’t question why that should be celebrated, when God’s chosen beings were supposed to be humanity. The angels’ purpose was to serve and to praise God. They would welcome anyone chosen by God to join their ranks.

God did not lie. And he had promised Qayin his brother’s submission. A part of him shamefully, arrogantly wanted it. But no, not like that. 

_Blood, his own hands slick with it. Hebel’s fingers digging into his arms. Hebel under him, struggling feebly as he dug out the mark with a knife._

And now, Hebel was trapped there, while Qayin never left the human world. God’s curse made more sense now. Even before, God must have known that Hebel had the potential to hold much power, and so he had marked him for servitude to him and his chosen children. Humans were more tractable according to his design, but Qayin had proven he couldn’t be trusted. God must have become afraid then, of what it would mean if Qayin got ahold of that power, the first real threat to his rule after he had killed the original Bel and claimed creation. 

Hebel had always cleaved to Qayin. He had struggled against the pain, but had not asked why Qayin was killing him. Well, that was over now, and Hebel didn’t need to listen to anyone. But Qayin was still going to fight God, for both their sakes. The problem was that he needed the power of the united Bel demons, and Hebel was now one of them. Had already assimilated some of them, if Loki was to be believed.

“What now, older brother?” Loki was grinning. The sort of grin only Hebel would trust. He sniffed when Qayin failed to answer. “Well, if you’re still bitter about that, why don’t you ask something of me, and we’ll call it even?”

He had misunderstood Qayin’s silence as sulking, but he wasn’t going to correct him, not when he had been promised a favor. It was too precious to use just then, when he only had the beginnings of a plan, so Qayin only nodded graciously. “Let me think on it.”

\--

There was something about this country that gave Qayin hope. Maybe because God was foreign here, accepted but given a lesser place, and he received less worship. His influence here was less, and while Remiel made its appearance now and then, watching, it kept its distance. He could accomplish something here. And there were strong bloodlines that could use demons, and which had very different teachings about them. This was where he sensed the revolution would come.

\--

Qayin slept again, in that brief fallow time when he was dead. Hebel was ready this time, had been waiting for it, and when Qayin sank, he followed, pouring more of himself into the world than he had dared before, but infinitely more careful this time, and more importantly, aware of what he was doing. Qayin shrank into a seed and Hebel memorized the feel of it, watched it take hold and live. Hebel had not done this before, not like this, but he watched how Qayin did it, how the cycle of rebirth worked. 

Hebel hesitated. In that newly ended life, Qayin had seemed to know him. But there had been something different. Too careful with his dying body, that sense of guilt, and a certain wariness. “Hebel,” he had called, when he thought Hebel’s body was asleep. “Are you here to kill me?”

Qayin didn’t trust him. Qayin was like that. He’d never trust Hebel if he knew Hebel _knew_. He wondered if all older brothers were like him, needing to have the upper hand, the reassurance of being needed.

Regretfully, Hebel sent his memories back, though he wasn't sure if he could retrieve them after. When he stretched his senses, he felt his body settle in a final shudder, burrowing more deeply into the niche he had found for himself, wings stretching over himself like armor, impenetrable and bristling with scales. He would survive there, even if he left to Qayin’s world. And even if he didn’t, this him that would be staying with Qayin would.

The other Bels were not likely to attack now though; they would know there was no power to be had from his shell, that Hebel, or the very vital part of him, was elsewhere.

He dwindled into a ball, waited for his own chance to live, waited for somewhere empty and unclaimed that offered him a close connection. _Brothers again this time,_ he wished. And demon wishes were strong, which was why they could grant them. _Like we should have been._

And then he appended, _forever._

 

 

 

\--  
\--  
\--  
\--

“You should stop teasing them,” was how Kazuya greeted him when Naoya opened the door to his apartment. Kazuya had his headphones off but hanging from his neck, and he seemed to have been idly browsing using Naoya’s laptop, open atop the low table of the kotatsu. Naoya spared a quick glance towards his other unannounced visitor, Captain Izuna, in civilian clothes as if those were enough to make her blend in. Her alert pose and wary glare at Kazuya in front of her practically made her refreshing office lady appearance scream undercover cop. And she didn’t even seem to be aware of it.

There’s tea on the table, nothing Naoya bought himself, and a whole plateful of ichigo daifuku, taken out of their wrapping. Those he recognized. Kazuya must have raided his refrigerator.

Naoya shrugged off his haori, and arranged his sandals neatly beside the pair of scuffed sneakers he found at the genkan. There’s gum stuck to the bottom of one; Naoya could see because Kazuya had toed off his shoes carelessly again, and left one of them on its side like a poor beached shark.

“Atsuro’s already complained to you then?” Naoya asked as he put his bag of groceries down. He usually only left the apartment once every ten days, but Kazuya caught him during a grocery run. As innocuous as he’d meant it to be, he still spotted several of the government dogs following, which is why he took his time picking out his milk from the rows of similar milk cartons, hesitating over noodles and cereals, even lingering in front of the small shelf of prophylactics, tasteful slim boxes alongside ones with garish cartoon character designs. He stopped there long enough someone tailing him would really notice, and Naoya thought gleefully of how they would have to report that, too, as he eased out one of the boxes, falsely stealthy, and put it among his purchases.

Kazuya’s timing though. They would never believe he hadn’t known Kazuya would be visiting. Which meant, at the very least, some very interesting reports and theories about their activities. For once, Naoya hadn’t thought that far ahead, but it was still amusing. Naoya hoped there’d be a meeting called, and that the people attending it would be very, very mortified. Fushimi should be in that meeting, Naoya decided.

Possibly, Loki was a bad influence.

The appearance of the King of Bel must have alerted the government branch created especially for him. Hence, Captain Izuna appearing here. Naoya vaguely wondered how long Kazuya had been playing host to Izuna.

Kazuya hung his head, a little guilty. He pushed the laptop to one side so he could rest his upper body on the table, chin on his crossed arms. “I haven’t seen them yet,” he answered belatedly. “But you messaged Atsuro through the Comp, didn’t you? And Babel…”

Babel was in Kazuya now. He probably couldn’t help seeing, but Naoya sneered as expected anyway. “What, you’ve been spying?”

For most of five months, Naoya had been monitoring Kazuya’s actions, and checking each and every change in Babel. It’s at once more intimate and restrictive. Babel opened for him, laughing joyfully with its borrowed voices, but Naoya can’t tamper with the program comfortably, not even with the free rein Kazuya’s given him. Babel _was_ in Kazuya after all. If there were any complaints about spying to be made, Kazuya should have been making them. Still, Kazuya didn’t rise to the bait. “Is it true about Atsuro though? He likes Yuzu?” 

Naoya looked at him incredulously, and Kazuya admitted, “I didn’t notice it. I guess I was too busy looking at you.”

The flat statement and blank expression still somehow radiated sincerity, and Kazuya had added a fond little sigh at the end, barely discernible but there. Not too obvious, but Izuna would hear it. Kazuya must know it, too, and was ignoring it, or else deliberately trying to cause her discomfort so she’d leave. But if Kazuya thought Izuna would leave simply because she’s made to listen to them gossiping like middle schoolers, Kazuya obviously didn’t know enough yet about people.

Or, no. He was counting on Naoya to help him.

After a moment’s deliberation, Naoya sat down heavily on Kazuya’s side of the table. Kazuya shifted a bit to make space for him, then sat up so they were shoulder to shoulder. Naoya snagged one of the snacks before they were all gone. In her favor, Izuna did not try to get any of the snacks. He heard the soft breath Kazuya let out as he snuggled against him, just like in their younger years. Kazuya pressed his head against Naoya’s shoulder, turning so his nose is to the fabric, and breathed in the scent from outside.

“It’s really winter,” Kazuya said wonderingly, and looked up at Naoya. “You weren’t wearing a heavier coat though.”

Naoya shrugged easily, relaxed. Nothing in Kazuya’s voice suggested this was going to turn into a lecture. Just Kazuya idly curious. Seasons didn’t change in the netherworld. 

“We would want to know the purpose of your visit,” Izuna announced. No thread of desperation in her voice, but Naoya saw how she had moved slightly away, before turning back and squaring her shoulders to deliver her line. “This hasn’t been authorized on our end, so you understand that you appearing suddenly can cause some issues.”

“Authorized, you say?” Naoya snorted out a laugh, darkly amused. “Does the government think to control where my cousin goes, then? Will you risk turning this into an issue?”

Kazuya glanced up at him, strangely at the moment he said ‘cousin.’ Naoya noticed, and did not think about what that could mean. Something had been niggling at him since Kazuya had made his appearance again. While Kazuya had been slumped on the table earlier, he had run his thumb down his forehead, following the slight curve of a nonexistent scar. It was a habit he couldn’t have picked up again.

Now, Kazuya leaned against the table in a pose of relaxed unconcern. An innocent teenager being asked to answer for some imagined misconduct. 

“You want to know what’s happening with the war.” Kazuya didn’t state this boastfully, or insolently, or with a wry smirk of foreknowledge. He stated it like a fact he’s trying to understand. 

“That’s…part of the agenda, yes,” Izuna admitted, wary, as if expecting a trick. She did trust his cousin, Naoya could tell, but for a person with her training, the feeling of trust was not something to trust. The fact that she trusted him even now only made her doubly suspicious.

“I’m going to assume that the government wants me to win, as long as that means freeing humans from God’s control. No sense in a probably hostile power taking over every time it feels like it. But,” Kazuya gave a little nod of understanding, barely pausing, “you’re worried about what that would mean after, when I’ve won.”

 _When I’ve won._ Naoya felt a spark of pride, but bit back his praise that would have derailed the conversation. 

Izuna was silent. “To be fair,” she finally said, “you haven’t given us any cause to be concerned so far. But in whatever history that has been preserved about dealing with demons, it seems unanimous that humans get more than they bargained for in the end.”

“This isn’t going to turn into Faust.” Another thing surprising, that Kazuya had read about Faust. Or maybe Loki had told him the real story. Loki had been scarce these past few months. It had annoyed Naoya, knowing what that meant. 

“For one thing,” Kazuya continued, “don’t you think it’s in my best interest to preserve the human world? All my friends are here. This is the only place I can visit Naoya.”

Izuna sighed, the slope of her shoulders suggesting tiredness. She must have tried to make the same point to her superiors, and been promptly ignored. “In truth, that’s part of the problem. It’s worrying the government that the safety of the whole world is contingent on the safety of a few people.” _And when they die in a few decades, what then?_

That was a valid concern, if Naoya was honest. He had been amused at the plans the government had started drawing in response. There was Project Abel, which was about binding the demon overlord to the defense of the country. They're already fighting about whether this should be purely defensive, or if they could use the power of demons to attack other countries if provoked. But they had no way of sealing him in a contract, and research into the Comps was not bringing them any closer to figuring out anything, not even about how to make the Comps work again. Naoya had seen the reports; people had tried to use the confiscated Comps, but Babel had not responded, and no new demon appeared. 

They have tried to get the singer’s cooperation, but Kamiya Eiji has been watching over her like a hawk. If it ever became necessary, Naoya would help them disappear. 

“Supposing, _just supposing_ ,” Izuna forestalled any protest with a raised hand, “that one of your friends try to abuse the Comp. You can’t expect us not to treat them as we would any other criminal. If we apprehend them, are you going to ask for their release?”

This was an open challenge. Kazuya frowned at it, but only in thought. He didn’t seem even slightly annoyed as he answered, “Human justice should be delivered by human hands, right?”

“And…you’re okay with that.”

“But,” Kazuya added innocently, before she had her guard up again, “if demons are involved, I’d need to be involved, too.”

Izuna paused to consider that. “How involved are we talking about here?”

“In the investigation, of course. I won’t accept that one of my friends has become a criminal unless it’s proven. We did fight together after all.”

Izuna’s expression tightened at the reminder of the lockdown. There was guilt in that look; of course, she’d essentially failed her mission. The very sincere part of her must still be blaming herself for what had happened.

“You’re forgetting something in that scenario though.” Kazuya made a vague gesture with an open palm. “Right now, no one else should be able to summon demons using the Comps. Everyone’s busy, too, so I don’t think the normal methods of summoning would work.” 

“There would always be a few rogues,” Naoya corrected, offhand, and Kazuya nodded. 

“But as far as anything official goes, you’re the only one whose call the demons would answer.”

“What…?” Izuna gave Naoya a betrayed look, which Naoya thought was completely unwarranted. He’s never pretended he was on their side after all. 

“I mean Naoya has the administrator rights of Babel,” Kazuya clarified, missing the panic that flitted across Izuna’s face. “That’s been the case for five months already.” Kazuya raised his chin a little then, and his look was not exactly accusing. Not very warm either. “I noticed the neighbors were all different. I won’t leave my cousin unprotected.”

“We’ve assigned people to protect him,” Izuna answered automatically. Naoya let out a short laugh, and Izuna’s gaze went back to him. She hesitated before she asked, “What does it mean for a human to be Babel’s administrator? That’s the demon server, isn’t it?”

“That’s not anything you need to be concerned about,” Naoya answered smoothly. The annoyed look he got told him she had wanted Kazuya to answer. But really, did she expect them to be so forthcoming with information? 

“This is a matter of national security,” Izuna pressed. “Are you asking us to trust that you won’t order the demons to take over the country? The world?”

“Please trust Naoya,” Kazuya said. The quiet entreaty made Izuna pause, the anger she was working towards changing to surprise. Kazuya met her gaze levelly until Izuna settled back and sighed. 

“I…I’m sorry. I know you did much for people in the lockdown, but…” There was honest apology in her gaze. Kazuya acknowledged this with a tiny smile. 

“Well, even if you don’t trust him completely, Naoya hasn’t abused his position, has he?” 

Izuna only shook her head in disbelief. Five months, and they hadn’t known about it. She must already be mentally drafting what to tell her superiors. 

“And what the government plans is no different anyway. They want someone human to hold my leash, right?” Kazuya touched a hand to his neck, even as Izuna stiffened. “In that case, a third party should work just fine. Who would politicians entrust with that much power? I won’t really approve if they tried to use it themselves.”

“This isn’t about your approval,” Naoya interjected, thinking it was probably time to warn him. But Kazuya only muttered restively, “Ah, Project Abel, you mean?” 

Naoya smiled, and he didn’t even need to say it anymore: _That’s my cousin._

“They don’t know how to summon me,” Kazuya pointed out. “And as far as qualifications go, they can’t.”

Now that made Naoya pause. Nothing in Babel had warned him Kazuya had already decided on the summoning he would accept as binding. That meant it must be fairly new.

“Oh?” Naoya allowed the curiosity to creep into his voice. “Belberith demanded blood, and ate the body and soul of a willing sacrifice. The stronger the demon, the more complicated the summoning becomes, and you’re the King of Bel. Did you decide on the terms of the summoning, or was it something you became aware of?”

“Something I became aware of?” Kazuya echoed, sounding confused. Naoya patted him on the head. 

“Some demons don’t have control over what they need to successfully cross over to this world. Sacrifices help stabilize that process. Some need the added vitality from blood, or sexual energies to…” 

Kazuya flushed. Naoya paused in his explanation, letting his smile widen. Izuna glanced between them uneasily.

“Is that the way it is then?”

“No!” The denial came quick enough that Naoya suspected it, but Kazuya fisted his hand in Naoya’s shirt, distressed, so Naoya didn’t push. Especially not when they had company.

“I was able to get here without needing anything, didn’t I?” Kazuya’s reasoning seemed to relieve Izuna, who had looked a little shocked and then worried when the implication dawned on her. King of Bel or not, she probably still saw him as a teenager, and didn’t like to imagine that he needed something like that to appear. 

But you’re not on a contract right now, Naoya did not remind their audience of one. And Kazuya had mentioned something about qualifications. They must be talking about bloodlines, probably his friends’ from that point on. And suddenly it seemed important to know about Atsuro’s romances in the future. Perhaps he should press harder. If Kazuya’s friends ended up together, that would be fewer people to watch.

“Well?” Naoya turned to Izuna, changing the subject. “Do you think the government can overlook this little favoritism?”

Izuna hesitated, looking exasperated more than anything. “I can’t promise anything.”

“Well, the government should have expected something along these lines from the beginning. We’re going to be fighting God for humanity’s freedom,” Naoya reminded her with a sneer. “If not for us, even now he’ll be sending angels to wipe out the stain humanity’s made of itself. If they can’t contribute anything directly, don’t you think they should at least be cooperative? I hardly hear any cries of nepotism when politicians secure jobs for their own relatives,” Naoya remarked. “Then again, the government has always been hypocritical.”

“…I’ll see what I can do.” Izuna nodded once, terse and resigned. She gave Kazuya one last reproachful look, as if to say _this is who you’re trusting?_ , before standing and smoothing down her skirt. She has a small firearm in a hidden holster; the shifting of the skirt gave him a short glimpse. Above the table, Kazuya’s hand closed into a fist.

Naoya made sure she really left, and then went back to the room to sweep for bugs. Kazuya watched him bemusedly. 

“They’ve learned to protect themselves, little brother,” Naoya explained, shooing Kazuya from the kotatsu so he could check under. Kazuya lingered near, remaining standing instead of sitting somewhere else. “I would have been disappointed if she’d appeared here without a weapon, spiritual or otherwise.”

“She knew she couldn’t hurt me with a gun.” And it was just like Kazuya to realize that, too. “So obviously the gun was for you. What did she think you would do?”

“Ah, cousin…” Naoya shook his head fondly. “She didn’t have to _think_. Even if she couldn’t think of a scenario where she needed a gun against me, it’s better than not having anything. She doesn’t need to not trust me to make that judgment. If anything, I’m flattered.”

“Do you… like her?” 

Now that was completely unexpected. Naoya straightened up from peering under the kotatsu, giving Kazuya a look from the safe few inches of height he had on him. Kazuya only looked serenely back, head tilted up. The fact that he had meant the question seriously made Naoya shake his head in disbelief.

“Unlike your friends, I’m not in any hurry to pair off with someone of the opposite gender.”

“I was worried you might be lonely.” Kazuya dropped his voice at the last word, as if he suspected that Naoya would be angry. Normally, he would be, given how that sounded close to an accusation of weakness, except he was too surprised that Kazuya of all people would think of it. “And Loki said…”

Naoya groaned into his hand. Then he looked at Kazuya, suspicious. “You never referred to him by name before.” 

“He’s been coming over a lot,” Kazuya said simply. Naoya almost gritted his teeth. Loki was not someone you’d trust to look after your little brother. And he wasn’t physically around to undo Loki’s bad influence, or keep him from telling century-old embarrassing stories. If Loki told that anecdote about the falling house again, to one more person, he was really going to kill him.

“And…” Kazuya paused. Something flickered over his face and disappeared as quickly, replaced by an indefinable tension. Kazuya glanced down. “He took me grave visiting.”

“A grave in the netherworld?” Naoya asked lightly. Kazuya’s shoulders twitched. “Who did you see?”

“Myself, I guess.”

“I see.”

The recognition had come gradually enough, because at his core, Kazuya hadn’t changed. But it was unmistakable, and the confirmation wasn’t even needed. And yet, Naoya had to admit to himself that he had partly been afraid of this, although he’d hoped for it, indirectly tried to bring it about. There had been a period when his cousin had seemed to react, but negatively, to getting his memories back. He’d fought against it, quietly and stubbornly. _“I don’t want to be Abel.”_

They’ve spent a childhood and early adulthood together, as cousins and almost-brothers, so Kazuya liked him without the complications of a very old grudge. For his part, Naoya hadn’t done anything to atone. All this while, he’d acted selfishly. He couldn’t bring his brother back from the netherworld, so the safest bet had been to send him back there again, but as the King of Bel, nothing fragmented that could become prey to other demons. And then they would fight God, and he could finally move forward without his curse.

Naoya had hoped that the hate would be canceled out. Kazuya had fought against awakening any further because a part of him had probably known that was impossible. Kazuya liked him, but Hebel...

Without a word, Kazuya pressed his Comp into his hand. There’s one skill programmed in, and Naoya blankly stared at it. He dutifully cast the spell though. Kazuya braced himself against him, clutching at Naoya’s arms as he let out a small noise when part of his essence was stolen. Naoya felt the raw power like static crawling up his arms, warmth and strength seeping slowly in, and with the power was a dream. 

Dark scuttling things in the woods. A newly realized fear, throbbing with the pain from the wet wound. Qayin had caught up with him, Hebel too tired to run, and the woods a threat all around them, possible pitfalls and angry animals that might not listen. It’s a memory in reverse, from Hebel’s perspective: Hebel looking up into Qayin’s passive face. 

He hadn’t even realized how it had been for Hebel, when no one else had gone after him. And even later, their mother wouldn’t tender any apologies, would pretend it didn’t happen. 

The thrown stone had been an accusation, just like the prophecy of the snake’s words.

But Qayin had opened his arms, allowed Hebel to collapse there. And this was safe, and comfortable. And just a bit, Hebel had been afraid he would be asked to give it up.

Naoya started, blinking away tears furiously, and pulled away from Kazuya in a quick movement. The dream remained in his blood, unbearable sweetness that left a sour taste. Kazuya dropped his hands to his sides, looking at Naoya with something like pleading.

“Sorry. Are you still angry?”

“You… then why…?” _You wouldn’t have fallen into hell if you didn’t hate me._

“I don’t think it was because of that,” Kazuya began, answering his unasked question. Something about his voice reminded Naoya of a bird with a broken wing. “Just, because you were angry, and it must have been my fault… I thought, you grew to hate me, so…”

Naoya laughed, bitter with the new knowledge. “You hated yourself.”

“I didn’t want to be me anymore. So, you see, I can’t stop being the me right now, even if I remember more. I don’t want to go back.”

It’s more honest than Naoya was ready for. He swallowed, tried to regulate his breathing. Kazuya had delivered his little confession like it was an apology.

“You think that’s a cowardly choice.” Naoya’s smile twisted further. That he’d be ashamed and sorry, and not think badly of his own killer… really, maybe Naoya should have predicted this. “Even now, you’re a fool of a brother.” 

Kazuya didn’t relax, looking unsure if that had been a joke, so Naoya took pity on him, forced himself to settle back to calm. Sighing, he went back to the kotatsu, spared the cool tea a look as he sat down. “You understand,” Naoya said idly, into the silence, “if this is your choice, I can’t apologize personally.”

“You can’t anyway.” Finally, Kazuya laughed, though it still sounded forced. “I’d be stuck if I stayed in that form.”

“And you wouldn’t be able to visit me.” Naoya tried the tea, pretending nonchalance for both of them. “Well then, I’m glad you chose me, brother.”

The sudden weight pressing against his back surprised him, and Naoya was glad he’d put down the tea. Kazuya had dropped his whole weight into the hug, like he’d thought Naoya was more solidly built and could hold him up. Naoya barely managed with his hands out for support. 

Kazuya snaked his arms around Naoya’s shoulders from behind, shaking. After a while, Naoya reached up and patted him on the head. 

“I’m home,” Kazuya said fondly, waiting for the traditional response. 

Naoya shook his head at him. “Yes, yes.” He made sure his voice was dry enough to convey he was only playing along, though a traitorous smile kept making his cheeks twitch. There was no need to make much of this. If he saw them now, Loki would say they were being a pair of idiot brothers, and he wouldn’t even be wrong. 

“Welcome back.”

**Author's Note:**

> I used the old version of Abel's and Cain's names because I wanted there to be a line between Abel and Cain from the stories and how the brothers remember their original lives. (Sorry if that just confused you.) 
> 
> Also, I really didn't capitalize God's pronouns because the God here is Bel's usurper, and not really benevolent. Very concerned about order, but not benevolent. So please think of it as in this verse, the whole capitalization thing is the angels' propaganda to force people to show respect and generate more worship, and Naoya's not on board with that.
> 
> Heh, I can't vouch for the quality, but this was somehow fun to write. :)


End file.
